


Tell Me Your Story

by SoldierBorn87



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Werewolves, Witches, story telling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-23 08:01:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2540348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoldierBorn87/pseuds/SoldierBorn87
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Do you actually want to die?” Stiles asks. “'Cause you know you can walk right back out of these woods and the monster will likely never know.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell Me Your Story

**Author's Note:**

> Additional tags will be added as they come up, so as not to spoil anything.
> 
> EDIT: Now beta-ed by the lovely Ruby.

“Do you actually want to die?” Stiles asks. “'Cause you know you can walk right back out of these woods and the monster will likely never know.”

Derek rolls his eyes and wishes Stiles would give it a rest. He’s not going to change his mind. He can’t. He came into these woods for a reason and nothing, not even the unexpected company of an irritatingly meddlesome human, is going to sway him from what he intends.

“I mean, it’s an awfully large forest this monster guards. It covers hills and vales for leagues and even stretches into the northern mountain range. That is, if you believe the tales are true. I’ve certainly never traveled enough of these woods to know one way or the other. In fact, I doubt anyone has, including the monster itself.” 

Stiles turns and looks at Derek. “Think about it. How could _one being_ honestly know what goes on in so much land at any given moment? Let alone all of the time?”

Derek starts to say sorcery, but Stiles continues on before he can do more than open his mouth.

“It’s inconceivable. I’ve lived here for years, Derek. _Years._ And the heavens above know the monster’s never noticed me. Or,” Stiles shrugs, “if it has it doesn’t care.”

“Maybe your constant nattering keeps it away,” Derek grumbles, finally able to get a word in edge wise.

Stiles laughs. “Yeah, maybe. But seriously, why not run? Why go to the monster’s castle and present yourself as sacrifice? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

Derek doesn’t answer. He thinks he might be afraid to, like maybe Stiles will be able to talk him out of this “nonsense”, as Stiles calls it, if he learns the truth. Maybe he’s not really ready to die yet. Maybe Derek’s resolve isn’t as strong as he thinks. 

It’s not a comfortable notion, nor is it one Derek wants to dwell on, so instead, he forces himself to pick up the pace of his steps as if he can outdistance his thoughts simply by walking faster.

Suddenly Stiles darts ahead of Derek, then turns back around so he’s facing him, though he carries on walking backwards down the path Derek is following. “Come on, Derek, who else is going to remember your story when you’re dead?”

“You’re going to trip if you keep going like that.”

Stiles grins and flutters his eyelashes. “Are you concerned for me?”

Derek sighs. “What good does it do me to be remembered by a hermit who lives in the Cursed Woods? Who will you share the tale with? Who will remember it when you’re gone?”

“Hey! I could totally share it. I leave the woods.”

Derek merely raises an eyebrow.

Stiles looks away. “Sometimes. It just never ends well.” 

Derek isn’t sure if he’s supposed to have heard that second part, but before he can comment, Stiles is grinning at him again.

“Besides, better a hermit in the Cursed Woods than no one at all, am I right?”

Derek shakes his head. “You’re just going to keep harassing me until you get an answer, aren’t you?”

“Probably,” Stiles agrees, turning around and slowing until he’s walking beside Derek again. “Not gonna lie though. There’s an equal chance I’ll get bored and wonder off at some point.”

“Before I reach the monster’s lair?”

“Castle. And yes, I’ll admit, I don’t like being near there.”

“Why?”

Stiles remains silent for once.

“How about this,” Derek finally says, “I’ll tell you my story if you tell me yours.”

“Well, that’s not exactly a fair trade,” Stiles says, glancing at Derek out of the corner of his eye. “I don’t really have a story to tell.”

“I think you do. After all, most people do everything possible to avoid the Cursed Woods, but yet you live in them. Do a dying man a favour; tell me a story.”

“That’s low,” Stiles glares. “As I already said, I highly doubt the monster would notice one way or the other if you just took off and went home.”

“I can’t go home,” Derek says, pausing as the truth and pain of the simple statement crashes over him again. The weight is crushing, suffocating even, and he hates it.

“Oh?” Stiles asks, pausing beside him.

Derek grimaces and starts walking again. “Tell me your story. And then I’ll tell you mine.”

~-~-~

They make camp at dusk near a river where Derek manages to catch them a couple fish for supper. Stiles tells Derek at length how much he hates fish, even as he builds a fire for Derek to cook them over.

“You don’t have to eat them,” Derek says. 

“True,” Stiles agrees, mischief dancing in his eyes. “But I rather think the company is worth a less than appealing meal. Don’t you?”

Derek sighs and shakes his head. Stiles grins.

While Derek sets about cleaning and cooking the fish, Stiles gets out a hunk of bread and a couple of apples from a small sack Derek doesn’t remember Stiles carrying when they first met earlier that morning. 

Derek starts to ask him about it, but then stops himself. Stiles had literally fallen out of tree in front of him by way of introduction. Derek remembers being so startled that all he really noticed at the time was Stiles’ human scent and his self-deprecating smile as he admitted he’d slipped while… picking apples. 

Derek shakes himself. He’s being silly. Of course the sack has been with him all along. Stiles told Derek earlier that he lived more than a day’s trek from where they’d met and it would be foolishness of the highest sort for one to travel so far without at least some supplies.

Stiles is ridiculous, but he doesn’t strike Derek as foolish.

“What are you thinking about?” Stiles asks, offering Derek a piece of bread.

“Hmm?”

“You looked far away.” 

“It’s nothing,” Derek says, taking the offered bread.

Stiles nods, but his eyes say he doesn’t believe Derek.

They share the bread and apples and fish – when they’re ready – in silence, each lost in their own thoughts as they watch the fire burn low. 

“Did you mean it?” Stiles asks suddenly.

“Mean what?” Derek asks. 

“If I tell you why I live in these woods,” Stiles says, eyes remaining trained on the fire. “You’ll share with me why you’re so determined to sacrifice yourself to the monster who claims them?”

“Yes, I meant it.”

Stiles nods, but doesn’t say anything for so long that Derek starts to think he won’t have to worry about sharing his story. But then, of course, Stiles starts talking.

“Once upon a time –”

“It doesn’t count if it’s not the real story,” Derek interrupts. 

“Hey, it’s _my_ story,” Stiles says, finally meeting Derek’s stare. “I can start it any way I like.”

They glare at each other for a long stretch before Derek relents. “Fine.”

Stiles holds his stare a little longer then takes a deep breath and starts again. 

“Once upon a time, though not too long a time ago,” Stiles smirks, casting his eyes back to the fire. “There lived a witch. No one knew she was a witch, of course, for if they had they would have been forced to kill her as superstition, and the laws, command.”

Derek is pretty sure he can see where this story is headed, but he keeps quiet and lets Stiles tell it in his own way and at his own pace.

“The witch lived a simple life, travelling from village to village as a medicine woman. She healed the sick, aided the blind and lame as best she could, and helped village midwives bring children into the world. In return the villages she visited would grant her food and lodging for as long as she chose to stay. 

“When she was five and twenty she came to a village near the Easternmost edge of the Curse Woods, and there she met a man. I won’t bore you with the details, but as you can no doubt guess they fell in love and were wed.”

“Your parents?” Derek asks, though he’s already sure of the answer.

Stiles nods. “Yep. A little over a year after they said their vows, I was born. Mom used to say I had the best set of lungs she’d ever heard on a newborn.”

Derek smirks. “No doubt.”

“Anyways,” Stiles says, with a ‘let’s get on with it’ wave of his hand. “Things were good for a time. Great, even. The witch and her family thrived. Her husband worked to keep the peace within the village and its surrounding lands and the witch continued to use her talents for healing. No one suspected anything was amiss. But then one summer, a man came to the village and everything changed.”

Stiles pauses and Derek can smell the emotions coming from him despite the smoke in the air and the fire that separates them. They make his nose itch and his heart grieve.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Derek says.

Stiles shakes his head. “No, I want to know your story, so it’s only right that I share mine.” Stiles clears his throat and continues. 

“The man’s name was Deaton. He was a religious man and a healer himself. He’d heard of the witch’s talents and wanted to learn her secrets that he might better help his own patients.

“At first the witch was able to keep her magic from Deaton. After all, she used natural remedies more often than not, so her practices weren’t all that different from his. One day, though, there was an accident. A man was knocked from his ladder while working on the construction of a new house for the Miller’s daughter.

“The man was gravely wounded and everyone who saw him was sure he was going to die, but the witch knew better. She knew if she used her magic she would be able to save him. And so, even though Deaton was watching, she didn’t hesitate. 

“You see, she had come to trust Deaton. She had worked with him and shared recipes for various remedies with him and even invited him into her home to sup with her family. She knew him to be a good man. She forgot, however, that he was also a religious man.”

Derek watches as Stiles shifts, drawing his knees up so he can hug them close to his chest. 

“I was eleven when the villagers came to our house and demanded that my father hand over my mother. I can still hear their voices shouting. ‘Give her to us,’ they said. ‘Or we’ll bar this door and burn the house down with all of you in it.’ My father wanted to fight them off, but my mother wouldn’t let him. She told him that she wasn’t worth the bloodshed. That he needed to think of me, not just her.”

Stiles’ eyes find Derek’s across the fire. “My father knew then that he had to make a choice: either he could fight for my mother or he could let her go and protect me.”

“You’re a witch too,” Derek says, trying to hide his shock. Stiles smells human, completely human. How can he be a witch?

Stiles nods. “My magic was only just starting to make itself known back then. No one but my mother and I could even sense it.”

“And now?” 

Stiles shrugs. “It comes and it goes. I don’t have enough training to control it beyond a few simple spells and enchantments.”

Stiles flicks two fingers in the direction of the fire’s simmering coals and sudden flames burst forth, reaching high and wide and causing Derek to leap back. Stiles quickly snaps his fingers and the flames sink back into the coals.

“Sorry,” Stiles says, wincing. “Like I said, I don’t have much training.” 

“Please don’t do that again,” Derek says, as he slowly retakes his seat. He’s okay around small cooking fires and hearths, as long as he doesn’t sit too close, but open blazes are another matter entirely.

“I won’t. Promise.”

“So,” Derek says, as the silence began to drag. 

“So,” Stiles says.

“I’m guessing your mother sacrificed herself, so you and your father could get away?”

Stiles nods. “She said it would be okay. Told him Deaton was a friend and he would surely grant her a merciful death.”

“Did he?”

“Only two ways to kill a witch according to the law. Fire or water. Tell me, would you consider either of those a _merciful_ death?”

“No,” Derek says, shaking his head; from what he’s heard both are slow and painful ways to leave this world.

“Me neither.”

Derek hesitates over his next question; afraid he already knows the answer to it too. He hopes he’s wrong. “Where’s your father now?”

Stiles sighs. “Gone. Three summers back. His heart gave out and I couldn’t… Maybe mom could have done something, maybe not. But I…” Stiles shakes his head. “I wasn’t strong enough.”

“I’m sorry,” Derek says, not knowing what else to do.

Stiles rubs at his eyes and shrugs. “Life is what it is.”

“Doesn’t mean we have to like it.”

“Nope,” Stiles agrees.

Once more they sit, allowing the silence to stretch between them and once more it’s Derek who finds himself uncharacteristically breaking it.

“Do you want to hear my story now? It’s not a happy story either, but –” 

“What happy story ends with one willingly entering the Cursed Woods?” Stiles mutters.

Derek shrugs. “None, I suppose. But I did promise to tell you.”

“Actually,” Stiles says, yawning wide and long, as he stretches his arms over his head. “I’m pretty tired now. Would you mind waiting until tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow’s fine.” Derek nods, even though he’d really like to just get it over with. 

“Tomorrow then.” 

Stiles smiles, but it’s nothing like the one Derek’s used to witnessing. It’s small and sad and it makes him wish he hadn’t insisted on Stiles sharing his story, makes him wish he could remember one of Laura’s stupid jokes or one of Peter’s puns. It makes him think, just for a moment, about getting up and giving Stiles a hug because, by the moon and stars, if there’s one thing Derek knows it’s what it’s like to feel alone and guilty.

“Tomorrow,” Derek agrees quietly, letting the moment pass and watching as Stiles stretches out on the other side of the fire with his back to Derek and his head pillowed on his sack.

After adding a couple of logs to the fire to make sure it keeps them warm throughout the night, Derek lays down too and stares up at the moon. It’s only a quarter full, but he can still feel its pull deep in his belly. It calls to his other half and Derek wonders, as his eyes flash briefly in acknowledgement of that power, what Stiles would think if he knew. 

Would the young witch still tease and pester him or would his heart pound with fear and his scent sour with hatred? Does Derek even care which? He’s going to his death. One way or the other, this journey is going to end with his last breath. 

Derek closes his eyes and sighs as he turns his back on the fire. And Stiles.

It doesn’t matter what Stiles thinks of him. Derek made a promise and he is going to keep it. After Stiles knows his story he’ll either understand Derek’s choice or he won’t. Regardless, Derek will continue to the Black Castle where the monster of the Cursed Woods is said to reside.

Still, Derek can’t help but think, it would be nice if Stiles could understand, if he turns out not to be afraid of the wolf.

Derek falls asleep to the crackle of the fire and the soothing sound of Stiles’ steady breaths.

~-~-~

When Derek wakes up the next morning, the fire’s ashes are cold and Stiles is gone.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always welcome. And, if you're interested, my tumblr exists [here](http://soldier-born87.tumblr.com/).


End file.
